by Sarah Lark
“Have you no father?” Nora asked Mansah. The girl pursed her lips. “Yes, Missis, but belongs to Lord Hollister. Was driver, now is field nigger. Not see often.”
After what Nora now knew about the society, Mansah and Máanu’s father must have been demoted. Perhaps his master hadn’t liked that he’d visited a woman on the neighboring plantation. However, she wouldn’t ask the girl. Perchance an opportunity would arise to find out from Elias or the Hollisters.
When Nora returned to her rooms, Máanu was already finished sorting her clothes into the wardrobes. She had removed the clothing of the former Mrs. Fortnam and placed it into chests.
“It’s a shame about these things,” Nora said regretfully. “Would you like any of it? It may be a bit too big for you.” Nora was also more petite than her predecessor. “But the length must be about right. You could alter something. And also for your sister.”
In England, Nellie had always been happy when Nora gave her an old dress. But Máanu shook her head.
“Not for niggers,” she said.
Nora sighed. “But it would suit you well,” she tried again, and then looked through the clothes until she found a few simple skirts and shirts. Surely Elias’s wife had the usual coatdresses. “This here! This could be a Sunday dress for you. Just take it, Máanu, I will tell the backra that I gave it to you.”
Máanu thanked her dryly. Nora filled with anger as she wondered whether the slaves even had a Sunday. At this point, she wouldn’t have been surprised if they were given no free days at all.
Elias shook his head when she asked him about it later.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nora, of course they have days off. Christmas. And a half-day at Easter. Every other Sunday, the reverend holds a church service where they can rest. And when it’s dark in the fields, the men don’t work.”
Nora was appalled by these standards. Only one single day a year? And in the fields from sunrise to sunset? At the moment, the sun was still setting relatively early, but in midsummer?
“I could show you the plantation tomorrow,” Elias said. “If your horse has recovered sufficiently after the trip.”
He grinned, and Nora was able to breathe easy — Aurora and the other horses had arrived safely. She nodded enthusiastically. She already knew how sugar cane fields looked, but maybe the tour would also show her the way to the beach.
The following day, Elias first showed Nora the way to the stables. They were on the other side of the house, laid out similarly to the kitchen, and were airy and cool. Nora’s graceful mare was suitably housed, sparkling clean, and saddled. The black stableboy would really make a keen competitor for Peppers, and had already been fussy when it came to grooming and saddlery. The man skillfully held the stirrup for her, after placing a step-stool beside Aurora. Elias climbed onto a black gelding.
“Well, then, first through the fields,” he decided. “We work 350 hectares of land here, which are not all fully grown plants — there are also some that are still saplings and some young plants, as we expanded last year. As such, we produce about 700 pounds of sugar per year — that will turn out to be more in the long run, as a sugar cane plant continues growing for around twenty years. We have 250 field niggers, as well as around twenty more for the stables, house, and gardens. Fifty horses — as I said, they are hard to come by, fifty mules, seventy oxen—”
“And a windmill!” Nora smiled. She was enjoying the ride through the fields, even though it was rather humid and there was no breeze. “What do they do with it?”
She pointed to a stone structure that had blades with sails covering them. The mill stood on a hill. It was probably visible from the house, if you looked through one of the windows at the front.
“It operates the press when there’s direct wind. Otherwise …”
The riders had by then reached the mill, and Nora saw how it worked when there was not enough wind: a young black man drove a team of oxen around a corral to keep the millstones in motion. The man and the animals were equally drenched in sweat.
“Look here,” Elias said, paying no mind to the slave. “Sugar cane juice.”
A trickle of golden-brown liquid was flowing from the mill into a vat. Additional vats were being transported to an adjacent building.
“It then gets boiled and poured into shallow pans. When it dries, it crystallizes — that is called muscovado. We then ship it to England to be refined, and after that, it becomes white sugar crystals. And we use the sugar cane syrup, which is a kind of by-product, to distill rum.”
Nora was only partially listening, as she was more interested in the people toiling away here. Up until then, she had barely registered the number of field slaves, but now she saw mules and workers transporting sugar cane. A total of 270 slaves — why, that was more than the entire population of Greenborough! It was a proper village. Who took care of these people? Were there schools? A physician?
Nora thought it better not to ask. She had no intention of straining the good mood between her and her husband. Elias showed her other farm buildings; sheds and stables for mules and oxen; and then he finally told her the way to the beach.
“You can’t miss it,” he said, turning his own horse back in the direction of the plantation. “But take a servant with you — the area here is safe, but you never know with the ruffians in the Blue Mountains. And it’s possible that the pirates also haven’t entirely died out.”
The smile that came along with the last remark meant Nora didn’t take his statement too seriously. She knew that in the long run, she wouldn’t be able to avoid going accompanied while riding. But on her first day, she would explore her island undisturbed.
Nora set off with Aurora in an energetic trot, and the black mare glided along the broad path that someone had cut out of the forest. Nora saw evidence of logging — Elias had probably sold some mahogany trees for the extra money. As such, the jungle was no longer all that dense — but then, as the path suddenly opened to the beach, she forgot about the trees. In front of her was the bright, white sand, and beyond that, the azure sea. Nora found it breathtaking — while Aurora seemed to be frightened. The mare didn’t want to step out of the cool forest and into the glaring sun. Nora first tried to encourage her onwards, but then just let her have her way and dismounted.
Nora tied the horse to a tree and kicked off her riding boots, feeling the firm sand under her bare feet. She had not imagined it would be like this: she had always thought it was softer and would support her even less … hesitantly, almost in disbelief, she ran across the warm beach towards the water, like a child. When she reached the ocean, she dropped to her knees without paying attention to her dress. Nora felt the coolness of the water, dipped her hands in, and played with the waves that were gently lapping the shore. It was overwhelming. But she could feel no joy.
Nora began to weep uncontrollably.
CHAPTER 8
Elias was displeased when he heard of Nora’s ride to the sea without a male escort.
“I know, I know, there is no apparent danger here,” he reproached her. “But there are the Maroons, and Hollister says there have been recent attacks outside of Kingston. Not to mention that it is unheard of — a lady riding around alone.”
“Maroons?” Nora inquired, ignoring the question of propriety. “Those are free blacks, are they not? But—”
“They are the spawn of the black bastards that were left here by the Spaniards!” Elias barked. “A small gift to the English conquerors. Before the Spaniards withdrew, they let their slaves free and armed them! Just imagine it! It is still inexplicable to me …”
For Nora, it was not so incomprehensible, but rather a sort of continuation of the war through other means. The Spanish planters had left a few lice in the fur of the people who had robbed them of their land — their descendants today were probably pleased by the success of their coup.
“They probably thought that the Negroes would fight!” Elias continued, indignantly. “But far from it — the pack retreat
ed into the mountains immediately, and have remained there to this day. Far too cowardly for open war, but they do still make advances from time to time, robbing here, looting there. Sometimes they hide runaway slaves; sometimes they turn them in for a reward.”
“And they come all the way to our beach?” Nora asked.
Elias shrugged. “They can be anywhere,” he said. “So take someone with you when you ride. And pay attention to your complexion; you have already spent too much time in the sun!”
For her next ride, Nora had asked one of the slave boys from the stables to accompany her, but it had not been much fun with him. The servants were only permitted to ride the mules, and they hadn’t even learned to do that. So, the boy slid around quite helplessly on the back of his unsaddled animal, and when Nora trotted or galloped, he was in constant danger of falling. In the forest, just before reaching the beach, she let him dismount and hold the horses, but with the slave at her back, she felt controlled and watched. It was almost impossible to protect her face from the sunlight while riding, as the amount of light changed often. Nora’s skin tanned easily, even if she stayed in the shade. Just after a few days, her complexion had already taken on a golden-brown shimmer. It happened faster at the beach than in the garden, and seemed as if the sand and sea reflected the sunlight. So, Nora restricted her visits to the bay to her fantasies. At least there, there was little risk of being discovered. No one watched over Nora — as long as her horse was in the stables — and no one was looking for her.
Apparently, there were absolutely no duties in the house or on the land for a planter’s wife. Every task that English ladies traditionally did happily on their own — from organizing her clothes to gardening — had been taken from her. The mistress of the house was a decorative accessory, pampered and cared for, like a lap dog. Nora always felt like a doll when Máanu dressed her and styled her hair in the morning. The girl mastered the necessary tasks quickly and was rather skillful. Since Elias was usually already out and about when Nora was awoken by the sun shining into her bedroom, she was served her breakfast in her room. She needed only to sit and wait for it.
For the first few days, Nora kept herself busy distributing Elias’s newly acquired paintings and sculptures pleasingly throughout the house, but that was quickly done. Nora was desperate to keep occupied, but soon realized that it was hopeless. If it didn’t have directly to do with preparing for celebrations and social gatherings — and Elias had not approached his wife with this task for the time being — Nora had hardly anything else to do, but make relatively pointless handicrafts, to read, or to write letters. Luckily, she found a library in the house — and a few books that Elias seemed to have actually read, or at least purchased for himself. Nora browsed through the books of Sir Hans Sloane, about the flora and fauna of Jamaica, with interest, and eventually took them with her to the terrace. The pavilion adorned with carvings above the kitchen was a good place to sit, and Nora soon spent many hours of the day there — not only reading and writing, but also listening in on the staff in the service rooms below. She had no wicked intentions but rather, enjoyed being around others who lived on the plantation. She listened to songs from the kitchen maids, who sang, while cleaning vegetables and gutting fish. She smiled at the strict regime Adwea maintained in her kitchen, and her feigned anger when the houseboys and girls shouted jests, and probably even exchanged kisses instead of gripping their brooms and serving spoons. To Nora’s surprise, the blacks spoke among themselves in the strange, broken English that she had noticed Máanu and Adwea using as soon as she arrived. Was it forbidden for them to speak in their own language?
Máanu shrugged again when Nora asked about it. A characteristic that Nora had already noticed among the other slaves. The servants seemed to follow the virtues of the three wise monkeys: hear nothing, see nothing, and for heaven’s sake, never admit to knowing anything!
“Don’t know, Missis,” Máanu now claimed. “Don’t know if forbidden. But I know they do not understand it.”
“The people from Africa,” Nora was still reluctant to talk about slaves, “don’t understand their own language anymore?”
“Yes, Missis, own yes, but not others. Many languages in Africa … many tribes.”
Nora nodded, now understanding. Apparently the blacks on the plantation were a mixed group of people from different parts of the continent. Of course, Africa was huge! Up until now, she had never thought about it, but naturally there might also be nations there like the English, Spanish, French, and Dutch, that also spoke different languages and had nothing much in common. That explained why uprisings were so rare. To the whites, the blacks were all the same, but to the slaves themselves, there were differences. And maybe the chained men working side by side were enemies in their own country.
This knowledge added to the uneasiness that Nora felt whenever someone portrayed slavery as a God-given right, and the blacks as half animals. Africa might not be so different from Europe: different languages, enemy nations. All of this didn’t speak for the wisdom and peacefulness of the tribes, but neither did it explain their classification as lesser beings.
Nora was thinking about this as she sat idly in her arbor. It was almost evening, dinner was to be served soon, and most of the activity in the kitchen was over. Some of the girls working there had probably gone home to the huts; others set the table and carried the food out. Nora had been wistfully listening to the crickets chirping and enjoying the setting sun. She got up with a sigh, knowing that she had to leave soon to avoid being late.
Elias considered the shared evening meal, and the finely laid table, important. During the first few days, he had rebuked Nora if the glasses weren’t perfectly polished or if a piece of silverware was in the wrong place. His wife should urge the slaves to do everything properly, why else would he have brought a lady into the household?
Nora had the people ready for action and gathered around the table the next morning, so that she could go through the proper placement of plates, soup bowls, spoons, and knives with them — whereupon, no more mistakes occurred. The blacks seemed to learn much faster than the staff in England, but of course, the servants there also had no whip at their backs. Nora only had to explain proper table service to the house servants once and then it went relatively smoothly. At least Elias didn’t notice anything wrong, and Nora was careful to correct minor blunders at the table. She spoke about it later with the group, who appeared to appreciate it. Actually, the assumption wasn’t based on anything, but Nora had the feeling that the house staff were beginning to like her. It was clear to her, in any case, that they liked her more than they did her husband, for whom most of them, even with all their obedience, harbored a deep underlying fear — or, as it seemed with Máanu, hatred.
Nora was on her way to the dining room to check the table setting when she heard voices in the kitchen garden.
“Akwasi? Are you there? You can come out, there’s no one there.”
Nora recognized Máanu’s voice — speaking in fluent English.
“I just got here; we were working on the border to the Hollisters’, with that Truman as the overseer. Toby is exhausted and Hardy …”
Nora had never heard the male voice before.
“His foot is bad, isn’t it? What did Kwadwo say?” Máanu sounded worried.
The boy snorted. “What he always says. One must invoke the spirits; maybe they will heal it, maybe not. Your mother’s ointment isn’t helping much. But it’s no surprise with such a gaping wound.”
Máanu sighed. “Take this anyway — it will give him strength. And he doesn’t need to come to dinner service. He should lie down and elevate the foot, according to my mother. That will probably help more than all the medicine. And here is broth for Toby. He needs to get his strength back soon, otherwise Truman will report him or have him whipped. Is there no place for him in sugar processing or the distillery?”
Nora was completely taken aback by the sudden eloquence of her slave — and not to ment
ion that of the man she was speaking to, who must be a fieldworker. But now she urgently had to go. It was imaginable what would happen if Elias came to get her and overheard the two of them. Nora didn’t know what was going on with the language, but Adwea and Máanu were certainly forbidden from taking food from the master’s table and distributing it among the fieldworkers.
Nora was not planning to betray them, but Máanu would have to speak with her in the evening and provide answers!
“Please no tell backra, Missis! Please no tell backra!” Nora had decided to confront Máanu after dinner but was shocked at the girl’s reaction. For the first time since Nora had known her, Máanu lost her dignified manner and affected stoicism. The blood appeared to leave her face — her skin took on a gray tone. “He punish Akwasi and Toby.” The young girl seemed more concerned about her friend than herself. “And me—”
Máanu frantically rubbed her forehead as if she wanted to cast out the thought of any possible consequences for her misdeeds. Nora would have most liked to assuage her fears, but she was determined to remain firm. She wanted some answers today.
“Speak properly, Máanu! I know that you can and that this Akwasi can, too. So, stop giving me the run around.”
“Máanu, Kitty, not teasing Missis—” the girl was obviously in a panic.
“Compose yourself and speak properly, Máanu!” Nora repeated. “And then nothing will happen to you. I will not betray you, but I have also had enough of being told lies.”
“I do not lie to you, Missis,” she whispered, defeated. “It’s not a lie when—”
“When you act as if you don’t speak our language even though in reality you speak better English than my staff in London?”
Máanu lowered her head. “My mother says that I should not let anyone know. And that Akwasi shouldn’t either. There would only be difficulties for us house niggers, and especially the field slaves. Akwasi has enough trouble already.”
